Misfits and Lost Engines
by 427Arbok
Summary: The journey and struggle of a band of miscreant tanks, having met by chance or luck, who must bond and help one another to have any hope of survival in a very competitive world. Starting, of course, with the meeting of two tanks, who will ultimately become the founding members of an ever expanding team.
1. Chapter 1: Meetings

**Author's Note(s): Hey, look! I actually wrote something for once! This might not happen again, but I'll try!**

**Also, of course, this is my first story, so go easy, will you? **

**As for the rating, it may or may not be accurate and is subject to change depending on how much I swear. Lastly, by the way, writing with an accent is hard...**

**Oh, wait, one more thing, this story was, in part, inspired by a story by autophagy, and hence may contain similarities and references to his work.**

* * *

It was official now: she was lost. Really lost. The Matilda II was a week out of the base, and with limited fuel, and she had gotten completely lost. She was so used to having lighter allies showing her the paths, she had lost her own sense of direction, and without them, or any friendlies, for that matter. She still couldn't believe they kicked her out. Slow, was she? _Could those morons even SPELL slow? Well, Hell, if they're signing their own bloody death warrants, I'd best let them_, she thought, hollowly, to herself. At this point she was trying desperately to assure herself, but it wasn't working. It never worked. She knew that, even with her armor, she had no chance alone, just as well as her former comrades did. _It's amazing what loads of utter horse shit can happen when the commanding officer doesn't come back from—_

She stopped dead. Something moved. She hadn't seen it, but she could hear it just fine. It was a tank, she had no doubt, but probably a small one; she could hear a small engine idle. There was little chance she had gone undetected, at this point, so she would have to try and bluff him.

"I've got three tank destroyers a half mile out," she yelled, giving her best attempt at sounding confident, but she was shaking in her tracks. "Unless you want to end up looking like a burnt scone, stand down."

"Well, if a show's on," came a voice from behind her, "Then it seems I have, how you say, ze best seat in ze house." She turned her turret, unsteadily, backwards, as every ounce of her stiff upper lip faded, to see a T-80 light, gun zeroed in on her engine. She did the only thing she could. Bringing her turret to a halt and letting her gun go slack, she cried, almost squealed, "I'm sorry! I surrender! Please! Mercy!" Cleaning fluid was pouring from her optics.

* * *

_So she was alone…_ The T-80 was rather taken aback by all this. He had been trailing her for a while now, wondering, but now he knew. However, he never expected her to break down like this. Quickly, he took his gun off her and tried speaking to her, "Calm, calm, please, I do not mean you any harm."

She sniffled, looked up, almost childlike, and asked, "Really?"

"No, no, none at all, comrade. I did not know you meant me none." This didn't help too much, so he got up close to her and almost whispered, "Please, do not cry, I hate to see lady tank crying." _Especially pretty lady tanks like you_, he wanted to say, but now was no time.

At this point, he had snuggled up beside her, desperately trying to calm her, and asked, "What is problem? Please, you can tell me." He knew it had to be severe for this sort of thing, Brits never did this, he'd even seen Cruisers staring down KV-1S's, so how could this be?

"My… My team… They… They…" She was choking up, so he tried to wipe some of her optics with his barrel, "They kicked me out… Last week, our commander… He didn't come back from battle… A new group took his place… They said they didn't need my fat ass around… That I was just… Slowing them down…" She broke down crying again, so he began to coo "There, there, is alright, is alright…" until she was stable.

"Is late. You need fuel, yes? I have a stock in my camp. I welcome you to it. I am alone too, you see. No team. Never joined one." He, at this point just wanted her to get a nights sleep, in the hope she'd be better by the morrow.

"No… No, I couldn't ask you to do that for me… I'm not worth it." She was less hysterical, now, but her will was no less broken. He knew he'd fucked up big time, but was glad to see the improvements.

"You do not ask, I do. Is not matter of how good you are, you get better, yes? Besides, you are the only tank I see in months who might help me. I need you, like you need me. We become like small team, yes?"

"O-okay, but… I'll only slow you down…"

"Nonsense, comrade. Come, I have a camp set up a short way ahead, you can rest and refuel there, with me." He was hoping a night's sleep would help her get back in order.

"I'm not worth it, I'm telling you."

"I disagree. This way, come," he paused for a moment. "I forgot introductions, how rude of me. My name is Ivan, yours?" He was straining his English, hoping she'd feel more at home.

"Clara…" She looked up to his optics and muttered a faint, "Thank you…"

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**Well, there's Chapter 1. I'll continue. Eventually... Kinda funny how I had originally intended to do a Monster Hunter fic as my first story when I made this account, but I guess it was not to be. Anyways, by all means, reveiw, follow, favorite, or... Um... I don't know what else I was going to say there... O7, perhaps?**


	2. Chapter 2: Moving Out

**Author's Note: Sorry it took so long, but here it is! It's finally done, after, what, a year? My upload schedule is terrible, I know. Thanks to those sticking with this, and I hope it was worth the while. Anyways, here goes!**

* * *

The road back was an uneasily quite one. Clara sniffled every now and again, and Ivan responded with a pat or nuzzle. It was a much slower pace than the Russian light was accustomed to, attributable entirely to his new partner and her gearing, but that was far preferable to another… Breakdown.

Slowed pace or no, it was an easy trek. They arrived at Ivan's abode in the beginning moments of the twilight, just missing the sunset over the cliffs. What he called home was a rather smallish cave dented into the face of one of the lesser mounts, though it was happily large enough for two tanks and a reasonable supply store. It was a tight fit for the rather… Supple medium, but she settled down well enough.

_Come to think of it, she is a tad bulky for a Matilda,_ Ivan mused, then offered, "Thirsty, I bet. Have a can, I've got plenty." He shoved it to her, and she graciously accepted. "And get to sleep once you're done. You need it."

She, cautiously, asked, "What about you? Not thirsty?"

Ivan looked her in the optic and stated, "Not yet. I'll be up, acting as our watch for the night. Let me know if you need anything else; I'll be outside." With that, the light drove off to a bush outside the crevice, and Clara tucked into the oil can. The little Russian tank kept looking back to her until he was sure she had gone to sleep, then hunkered down for the night.

* * *

It was certainly going to be long, but the watch gave him time to think about his situation. He'd finally found someone he could comfortably work with, though perhaps that might be overstating the matter. Bearably was more apt, as conversation had been extremely tense so far, but hopefully this girl would loosen up a little. So he settled down for the night, tuning his radio to some station playing western rock music, which the Russian tank had a distinctly unpatriotic love for. A good deal of his English had been learned simply by listening to stations like this one, and, as it were, it seemed as if he'd managed to end up kinda decent with it.

Hours passed, and song after song played. Ivan nearly fell asleep in his bush, but a hellish sound tore him from his drowsiness. A sound anyone could recognize. It was a gun, and a big one, too. More followed, and it would seem as if a battle had erupted near his home, although he seemed, thankfully, to be safe. His first thought was to run, but he stopped himself, remembering his new… ally… was still asleep.

Rolling back, he found her, barrel down over her engine deck and a faint hum coming from her hull. Clara seemed to be quite the sleeper. She probably needed it desperately, and, considering that they were probably ants in the eyes of the tanks fighting outside, he decided to take the risk of waiting it out. Staying inside the cave this time, he settled back down and, unintentionally, drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Morning. _Shit._ Ivan's barrel sprang up, ashamed and fearful, but it seemed without cause. There were no behemoths outside waiting to greet them, Clara was still happily asleep, and nothing had been stolen. And he was still alive. That too.

They were, as he'd gambled, never in any danger. But, just because they weren't last night didn't mean they'd be safe the next. He gave the infantry tank a few more minutes, as he woke himself up and got going. Then, he pulled back inside and set about gathering everything to go. Once he knew that there was nothing else left to do, he gently nudged the Brit awake. This took some time. Even for someone who hadn't slept in days, Clara seemed difficult to wake. But, with effort, she began to stir. At first, the whirring of her starter made Ivan think her battery might have dropped too low overnight, but the fear turned out to be nothing. After a few tries, she rumbled to consciousness, her engine displaying the true might of a civilian bus.

The 2-pounder perked up, and her turret turned to look at her new… friend? Still waking up, she asked, "How long was I asleep?" She knew she wouldn't like the answer, but asked anyways.

Sure enough, the light gave a less than happy look. "Longer than I did. I wish I could tell you, but, um… It's maybe ten or eleven now. I kinda dozed off myself…" The smaller tank shrugged, and seemed less… capable… than he had the day before. In a weird way, it was comforting to her, almost as if he were closer to her level. Was fallibility really… okay?

Confused, she prompted, "Um, so… You don't, um… Making… Um… Nothing's wrong with that?" Not a damn one of those felt right, but she had to say something. Maybe he'd get it?

He gave her an odd look, and she that perhaps she might've offended him, but he simply answered, "Well, shit like this happens. When it does, take stock and make do with what you can. That's life. It's not what you get, it's what you do with it." The way he delivered the last line seemed to emphasize her, but she still didn't see what he meant by it.

"Sometimes you don't get much to work with," she said, trying more to find out what he meant than continue the conversation. If he was talking about her, he'd continue, and maybe get more specific.

Undeterred, he maintained, "Then you just make the best of it. Even terrible stuff can be made into world-class material. You English seem to be pretty good at it. I'll bet you might find what you have to be better than you first thought." _So he was talking about me… But, does he really think I can be worth a damn? And why does he so badly want me to get better? How does he benefit? _She couldn't keep the line of thought, though, as the Russian started again, "Anyways, there was a firefight nearby last night. It didn't get close enough to endanger us, and I thought you'd need the sleep, but this place isn't safe anymore. Sorry I couldn't provide more permanent residence." His tone dropped, almost guiltily at the end.

Regardless, she knew what was coming. "So, we're on the road now?" She looked to the supplies, and saw all of them packed for transport. "I guess I can move, sure. But, do you really want to travel with me? I'll slow you down a lot…"

Unexpectedly, Ivan shot back at her, as impolite as he'd been thus far, "Do you really think I would have woken you if I didn't? And why do you keep trying to insist I don't need you? Do you want to die? Alone, all by yourself, with no one to help you? Do you?!" Almost in shock, she lowered her gaze and started to tear up at the optics. It hurt her to hear him talk like this. The grim reality of his words struck her core, and he didn't stop. "Enough of that shit, too! Feeling damn sorry for yourself isn't getting you any damn where! Do you want my help, or do you want to die? ANSWER MY DAMN QUESTION OR I'LL LEAVE YOU HERE!" He was pissed. Very pissed.

Starting to cry, she tried to suck in and answer, but it took a few moments. After struggling for a minute, as the fuming light seemed to be setting off, she managed to choke out, "Okay. Please… I'm sorry, let… Let me come along." He paused, let her roll up beside him, and shifted some of their supplies onto her engine deck. Not a word was spoken as they rolled out, and as Clara writhed in pain.

The pair rolled for a ways, like this, before the light began to feel a wave of guilt wash over him. He looked to his companion, who was still fighting tears, and began to realize what he'd said to her. It was true, sure, but his delivery was… He was treating her with exactly what had made her this way. The way she tried to deny his kindness was infuriating, but he had no right to treat her like this. She was of steel and oil, just as he. So, he slowed, then turned his turret to her. Calmly, he sighed, then began his apology, "Look, I'm, um… I'm sorry I was so hard on you. But, you can't keep approaching this like you won't succeed. If, um… If you need a break, then just let me know. This is hard on you, I'm sure."

She looked to him, still visibly hurting, then broke out crying. He stopped, closed his hull up against hers, and laid his barrel up against her. "It's okay, I'm sorry. I'm not going to leave you. And I'm not going to treat you like that ever again." _I really am despicable. Just please, let her be alright… God help me, let her be alright._ Perhaps his prayers were answered, because, as she cried against him, she slowly regained her composure. This girl was delicate, and he needed to learn that. And remember it, too.

Looking at him, she choked out, "I'm sorry I keep doing this. Please, let's get back going." This was… Progress, maybe? But, if it was, it was probably the wrong kind.

"Not until I'm sure you're okay. Besides, this is my fault. I shouldn't act like that, I'm sorry. We're both in this, together. Is that clear?" She nodded, and he felt more comfortable for it. If she'd just recover from this…

"Vell, vell. Vat do ve havf here? Two little lufberds? Oh, das ist romantic, ja?" Ivan froze. The cold fear of death shot through every panel, every bolt, every gear, wire, or screw in his body. He didn't dare look to see the source of the voice.

Just as he thought he might have gathered up the courage to check, or at least do something, a second voice spoke, this one deeper, with a mild rasp and a British accent. "What've you got this time, Jotun? Tier fours? Ah, hell, what're ya doin' like this, 'ere, you two?"

This was how it ended. Ivan was going to pay for his insensitivities with death. The words he dreaded most, though, came from the Matilda beside him. "I'm sorry." He echoed them back, and now they both cried. The pair stood together, awaiting the shots to kill them. Awaiting judgment. It was over.

* * *

**Author's Note: Yep. I did it. First chapter I upload in ages, and it ends on a cliffhanger. The troll is real.**

**And, by the way, I cannot thank you guys enough, particularly the individual (Sorry I forgot your name!) who contacted me about this IN GAME. Honestly, I'm amazed that my work is this appreciated. To all who have reviewed and followed, thanks, really, I mean it. I'd try to respond to some reviews, but they're all kinda basic and/or the response might be spoilery.  
On a side note, however, if you don't mind, please check out my other fic, Two Teams, One Dream. Cheesy name, I know, but my muse is having an easier time writing that than this, so it'll probably see more frequent uploads. Not that this fic is dying, far from it. And, again, thank you all.**


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